


Tony Stark Hates Magic, and the Feeling is Mutual

by marsmaywander



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bot Feels, Dubious Science, Fluff, For Science!, M/M, Magic, Magic and Science, Potions, Protective Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Hates Magic, Urban Fantasy, WinterIron Spring Fling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6849580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marsmaywander/pseuds/marsmaywander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is determined to harness the power of magic or die trying. Bucky’s just trying to keep his boyfriend in one piece.</p><p>(for the winteriron spring fling)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tony Stark Hates Magic, and the Feeling is Mutual

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheScribblingArtist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScribblingArtist/gifts).



> Canon is a thing that happens to other people. This is an offshoot of MCU where bad things never happened [no CA:CW spoilers].
> 
> Many thanks go to the lovely [arwenxs](http://arwenxs.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing.

“I wouldn’t.”

Bucky spotted Clint, lounging bonelessly on the sofa in the living room watching TV.

“What.”

Clint didn’t bother turning around. “Yeah; your boyfriend’s been on a scimagic bender in the kitchen. Probably best to steer clear for a while, until he gets it out of his system.”

“A sci-what?” Bucky’s brow furrowed as he asked.

Clint had lost interest in the conversation, however, as _Dog Cops_ returned from commercials. Giving it up as a lost cause, Bucky took a deep breath and entered the kitchen.

The room was a cacophony of colors and chaos. A bundle of sage smoldered fragrantly, clamped to the countertop in a bench vice. Crumpled brown paper bags labeled in sharpie spilled dry herbs where they laid discarded. A rainbow of small puddles and splatters could be spotted on every available surface, and a pot was gently simmering on the stove. The sink was piled high with discarded bowls, spoons and what looked like a large monkey wrench.

In the middle of this, Tony was carefully examining a tiny glass ampule, the contents of which seemed to be _glowing_. Without even looking up, he said, “Oh, good! Grab that tall bottle on the counter, wouldja?”

Bucky knew better than to try to interrupt Tony’s flow. “This one? What the hell’s in this jar - I think it’s moving?”

“Yeah, book says it needs to be fresh, and I’m trying to not improvise this one. Much. Besides the unicorn horn because seriously? That part’s a typo, right? Or Strange messing with me? I used some cruelty-free, renewably-sourced deer antlers. One horn, two - whatever. Bambi should be pretty close, I figured.”

“Strange? What’s he –” Bucky spotted a large leather-bound book propped up near the coffee maker. “You took his book. Of course you took his book. How did you even get it? And I thought we agreed that you weren’t gonna get involved in that ‘affront to science and man and all that is good in the world?’”

Tony shrugged. “Ehhhh. You agreed,” Tony scooped some of the herbs from the counter, weighed them in his hand, and dropped them into the concoction in progress on the stove. “I made noises which one _could_ construe to mean agreement but let the record show that no actual agreement was conveyed. Jarvis?”

“Sir has a way with misleading circumlocution, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky, through years of training gifted upon him by snarky little punks too stubborn for their own good, resisted massaging his temples.

“You are being careful, though?”

“Of course! Safety first, last, and always. I have DUM-E on fire control.”

Sure enough, DUM-E was standing by, extinguisher rig attached and chef’s hat jauntily tipped atop his claw.

“I tried to tell him that just because we were in the kitchen didn’t mean we were cooking, but he insisted on the hat. He’s very big on hats. Don’t know where he’s getting it. Is it you, J? Are you being a bad influence?”

“Tony? Why _are_ you in the kitchen?” Bucky asked.

“Step five needed even application of heat, and I didn’t have a large enough cast iron vessel in the workshop.”

He plucked the bottle from Bucky’s hand, and added a generous portion to the pot. He paused, considered the bottle, and added another small dollop. A noxious puff of orange vapor started steaming up from –

“That’s Bruce’s favorite Le Creuset pot.”

“Sacrifices must be made in the name of science.” Tony set the nearly-empty bottle on the counter without looking. “Bruce understands. I’ll buy him a new one. I mean, no one wants to eat out of this one, it’s got macerated flies in it.”

“Is that what was in the bottle? Wait, why the hell was it _moving_?” Bucky felt a detached sense of bemusement. It was probably the smarter, healthier way to go, emotionally speaking.

“Just watch. This part is supposed to be cool. Well, not literally - the thing’s exothermic as far as I can tell - we still increasing in temperature, Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir. At a somewhat alarming rate, might I add.”

“Yeah, yeah, magic makes the thermodynamic laws cry. Less commentary, more data collection.” He turned to Bucky, “Really, there’s no explanation as to why the stuff keeps heating up - those ingredients are chemically inert together...

“Oh, here it goes!” After a beat, the mixture instantaneously flickered in color, going from a clear golden yellow to a somewhat murky blood red, then back to a slightly more violently orange color.

Tony continued, “Neat parlor trick, but I’m pretty sure it’s some variation on a clock reaction. Make a note, J? We need to do a follow-up on this part later.” 

“Of course, sir.”

Tony started flipping through the spell book. Bucky took a stool from the breakfast bar and sat down. He leaned back against the countertop on his elbows. 

“So, what’s with the peanut gallery, here?” Bucky snagged one of the nearby Bearvengers™ plushies. They were sitting atop the microwave, at a safe distance from the piles (and puddles) of ingredients. He rubbed Iron Bear on his fuzzy red-and-gold head.

“Stop petting the test subjects.” Tony complained without heat.

“Test subjects? What are you even doing? And where did you get these? I want one.”

“Eh, some street vendor a few blocks north of here - we’ll swing by when I’m finished here.”

“Finished with…” Bucky insisted, staring at the mess spilling out over every available surface.

“Oh! This is going to be great, you’ll see! Or, well, you _won’t_ , I suppose.” He gave the pot a brisk swirl with the handle end of a wooden spoon. As he pulled it out to flick and point to Bucky, flecks of orange splattered wetly onto the floor. “Remember that, hmm... incident? Last month? When Strange invisibly snuck up and attacked me completely out of the blue?”

“You were distracted on your phone and he walked into the room, pretty sure he wasn’t –”

“Irrelevant. Got me thinking. It would be great to have a stealth mode for the suit.”

“You _have_ a stealth mode for the suit,” Bucky pointed out helpfully, eyebrows raised.

“For _radar_ ,” Tony scoffed. “I’m talking full-on optical cloaking here.” The spoon went flailing, small orange pockmarks dotting the cabinets, “The strategic advantages would –”

“You’re gonna use it to prank Clint, aren’t you.”

“He’s a spy! A sneaky, underhanded spy, with far too much accuracy with a nerf gun. No way his firearm skills translate to foam projectiles,” Tony picked through a bowl of glittery quartz and slipped a large finger-sized crystal into the pot. “He says he doesn’t, but I bet he practices with them at the shooting range. In any case, I need all the help I can get here, especially since certain ex-assassin sniper boyfriends who shall remain nameless refuse to engage the enemy,” he looked at Bucky pointedly.

“Anyway, batch one was too weak - you can have one of those if you want.” He pointed towards the sink, frowning. “I washed the potion off but the effects seem to be lasting. Haven’t figured out how it’s doing that.”

Hanging on an improvised clothesline over the sink were a set of three Bearvengers. You could just barely make out the wall _through_ each slightly dripping plushie.

Bucky grabbed Thor Bear, shook off the excess water over the sink, and considered it. The little winged grey helmet looked almost delicate with the light shining through it. He smoothed down the fur at the back of the bear’s head, and could see the metal joints of his fingers through the bear’s golden face. The thing looked a bit like one of Tony’s holograms, solidified.

“This is a little unsettling, I gotta be honest with you,” Bucky said.

“It’ll be fine; I strengthened this batch, so this time the bears should go full-on invisible.”

Bucky continued to stare at the sad, soggy bear, turning it over in his hands. “Okay, but you should also probably figure out how to get things to _stop_ being invisible, too. Seems pretty important.” Bucky had learned early on the merits of damage control when stubborn fellas were dead set on their stupid reckless ideas.

He carefully hung the bear back up to finish drying. “When are you planning on cleaning up this mess? This is the communal kitchen, and we’re gonna have to eat out of it again eventually. I’d like to not get magically-induced food poisoning,” settling back onto his stool, Bucky’s left hand shot out, forefinger and thumb clicking as they closed around a buzzing fly. “Or the conventional kind. Corral your ingredients, would you?”

“Ew, gross, you did not just do that. Tell me you didn’t. You’re gonna end up with bug guts gunking up the works and you know who gets to find all those buggy guts the next time routine maintenance is scheduled? Me.” He glared at the obviously-contaminated metal fingers. “Also, think of the children, wouldja? DUM-E is very impressionable and his joints don’t have nearly the same shielding as –”

A sad beeping interrupted him, accompanied by a rough grinding noise. DUM-E’s entire claw was spasming as he tried to shake off the plastic baggie of flies that had somehow gotten wrapped around his claw.

“Told you.”

Tony’s eyes crinkled into a small smile as he watched Bucky patiently remove the bag and comfort DUM-E, taking a damp kitchen rag to the joints in an attempt to help.

“You’re only encouraging him to act out,” Tony pointed out.

Bucky continued cleaning, only pausing momentarily to stick his tongue out at Tony.

“Very mature. A+ role model material. Okay, now I’m supposed to,” he twisted his body around to glance at the book, “ _‘Carefully pour out only that which does not settle.’_ Yeesh. They couldn’t just go with ‘decant?’”

Tony grabbed the novelty Hulk hand oven mitts sitting on the counter and gently lifted the still-smoking Le Creuset pot. He clamped a wooden spoon across the top of the pot with a finger, and expertly poured a slow stream of violently orange liquid.

“The spoon breaks the surface tension and prevents it from leaking down the side!” Tony happily informed Bucky.

Bucky glanced over. “I am definitely going to regret asking this, but that shield-shaped metal item you’re pouring into isn’t what I think it is, is it?”

“Well. Instructions called for a vessel thrice blessed by something from somewhere but I didn’t have one handy. It was very specific about not allowing the potion to touch ‘unclean’ surfaces - whatever that means. I figured from the ingredients list that the stuff was gonna be pretty corrosive. Vibranium’s pretty much indestructible. And anyways, if it is a more metaphorical hand-wavy ‘purity’ thing, I figured a vessel from Mr. Truth and Justice was a pretty close substitute.”

Bucky just stared blankly at Tony.

“I’ll get it back to him. When I’m done, I mean. Probably shouldn’t move that stuff around right now. This batch is not all that stable. Currently.”

More staring. Bucky learned long ago that letting Tony talk himself out was sometimes the best way to get information out of him.

“No, no, it’s fine! I’m like 75% sure this won’t explode on us,” Tony said.

“ _That_ sure, huh?”

“Maybe more like 70%. A conservative 68, let’s call it.”

“So we’re saying a one in three chance that we’re in trouble? Presumably very big trouble?”

Tony carefully didn’t meet Bucky’s stare of disbelief. “One _could_ argue that.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking we should just put that thing on ice and call it a day, now. You can do some not-likely-to-blow-us-up calculations on paper and start again tomorrow. I really don’t want to explain to everyone why –”

Just then, as though it were waiting for a properly dramatic cue, the potion spontaneously started violently bubbling. It darkened dramatically to a royal purple, and Bucky could spot the moment Tony realized the implications. Reading the rising panic on Tony’s face, Bucky snapped into action. He bodily tackled Tony over the nearby heavy wooden dining table, kicking it over for protection. As the roaring boiling reached its peak, Bucky covered tony with his body, curling the metal arm protectively over Tony’s head and neck and clutching him tightly.

With a wheezing whistling noise, the violent bubbling abruptly stopped. 

Silence fell for several long moments.

Bucky let out a sigh of relief and lifted his head to stare at Tony, “Are you okay?”

Tony stared back at Bucky with wide eyes, and said, “No... No, yeah, I just,” he took a shuddering breath, “just banged my hip on the –“

A low, loud _whumph_ like gasoline catching fire shook the air with a noticeable shock wave, and suddenly vivid purple globs of goo splattered down heavily, blanketing the room. Bucky didn’t even have time to react. Tony sputtered as the two of them were generously coated with the stuff, some of it nearly making it into his mouth.

DUM-E curiously rolled over, raising his claw to look at them. He let out a series of beeps.

“Nuh-uh! Back off, you menace!” He paused to wipe his face with the back of his (relatively) clean arm. “Do we look like we’re on fire? Don’t even think about it.”

“Is this stuff safe? I feel like we need a hazmat team or something,” Bucky asked.

“Nah, we should be fine. Jarvis is monitoring and would’ve sounded the alarm if he noticed anything hinky going on. Not that a decontamination shower isn’t in order. Ick. I feel _sticky_.”

Tony sneezed, and above his head a note on aged parchment gently floated down. Bucky snatched it up before it hit any of the mess.

“Where the hell?” Tony boggled.

“Um,” Bucky skims over the note. “It’s from Strange? He says to stop taking his things.”

A glow lit up the room. The book was safely protected by a glittering field, and as Tony and Bucky watched, it faded from view with a soft popping sound.

Bucky let out a heavy cathartic breath and finally uncurled from around Tony, flopping to lay half next to and half on top of his boyfriend. There were faint lines on the side of Tony’s face from the metal arm’s panels.

“I think you just scared five years off ‘a my life, Tin Man,” Bucky teased. He gently cupped Tony’s cheek, brushing over the lines with his thumb before placing a kiss on Tony’s forehead.

“Ew,” Tony made a face. “Not okay. Do you even know what went into that goo? Because the macerated flies was the least of it.”

“I’m taking it on faith that Jarvis is right in giving the all-clear. It actually kind of tastes like peaches,” Bucky teased. “Anyway, you have any idea the kinda stuff we had to make do with during the Depression?”

Tony did not look convinced. “Sure thing, Early-bird Special.”

Tony let his head fall back to the floor. “For the record – that was not the intended result. J, make a note. Also, where the hell did all of this come from?” Tony swiped at the mess and frowned at it like it had personally insulted him. “This is way more than there was liquid in the shield. Magic is _not_ an excuse for breaking the law of conservation of mass!”

“Tony, you're a genius and I love ya, but let's keep you away from magic from now on, yeah?”

Tony looked indignant. Bucky smiled, ducked his head and caught Tony’s lips in a brief but tender kiss. Tony had a soft smile as Bucky ran fingers through Tony’s hair, trying to dislodge the larger blobs of purple.

A thought occured, “Wait, where is Steve’s shield?”

They both crawled to peek over the top of the overturned table. The shield was overturned on the floor next to the counter it had been resting on, sitting in a pool of the goo.

“Vibranium! Ha! Told you the stuff was tough,” Tony said.

The painted design was decidedly _not_ vibranium, however.

“Um.”

As they watched, the goo melted the paint job. The colors began to bleed, and the star looked very sad and lopsided.

“You’re _sure_ the stuff is safe?” Bucky asked.

“Um. Yeah, we should go for that shower now.”

Just then, Steve skidded into the kitchen on socked feet, arms windmilling as he grabbed the doorjamb to stop himself from slipping on the purple slime that was _everywhere_.

His eyes darted over to the Tony-and-Bucky lump on the floor.

“I’m not even going to ask what was going on in here. Are you guys okay?”

He barely acknowledged the nods he received. “Wait - is that my shield?”

“Yeah, about that...” Tony equivocated. His eyes narrowed, “Y’know, you may wanna calm down a bit - you’re looking a little heated in the face. DUM-E? You know what to do.”

DUM-E swung around with a series of rapid panicked beeps, and promptly sprayed Steve with the entire contents of the fire extinguisher.


End file.
